


Biology

by Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, M/M, Sorry guys, i don''t even know, i guess?, it actually makes no sense, this is really nothing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-14 09:48:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2187141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b/pseuds/Gallifrean_assbutts_in221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Class, today we have a new student."<br/>Cecil looks up and actually stifles a gasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Biology

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so originally this was actually the beginning of a much longer High School AU I've been working on, but I realized it doesn't really fit into that story at all. So here's a random, disjointed thing that's weirdly paced and has no ending. Or story. But I kinda liked it anyways even if I won't be expanding on it, so I thought I'd just post it individually....sorry...

“Class, today we have a new student.”

Cecil looks up from his notebook and actually stifles a gasp.

He’s _perfect_.

“Please welcome Carlos Montoya.”

The rest of the class barely glances at the new kid, but Cecil is staring intently. He has never before appreciated how beautiful that name really is. It feels as if he could go all _West Side Story_ and burst into song about it. _Carlos_ —he has perfect hair and a square jaw and teeth like a military cemetery. He’s wearing a white button-down, which he seems to be regretting since he’s tugging at his collar, which is _adorable._ And then—and _then_ —Carlos gives a shaky, nervous smile.

He grins, and everything about him is perfect, and Cecil falls in love instantly.

No one says anything, and Mrs. Dubois ushers Carlos to his seat, two rows in front and one to the left of Cecil, who has a reasonably decent view of the back of that perfect, perfect head.

 _Wow._ Cecil’s heart is already fluttering and he’s barely even seen this boy.

He immediately resolves to get to know Perfect Carlos Montoya as quickly as possible.

-

Carlos hates being the new kid. It’s happened to him three times by now, and it’s not good for him. He doesn’t know why he even bothers trying to smile. He never makes any friends. Of course, he doesn’t exactly try anymore, but that’s beside the point.

Night Vale seems like an okay town. Mom said that hopefully they weren’t going to move again. Carlos isn’t sure how much stock to put in that.

Carlos is fourteen years old this week, quiet, shy, nerdy, astronomy-loving and nervous as hell about everything. He doesn’t have friends, doesn’t go out, doesn’t get invited to parties or talk to anyone, really. Instead, he stares at the floor, walks with his hands in his pockets, and keeps his hood up even when it’s hot outside.

This is a science class, so Carlos resolves to pay attention. Unfortunately, the teacher is saying something about heat convection, and he already knows all about that. He starts doodling constellations in his notebook, wishing there was an astronomy class, and hoping he can make it through the first day without getting tripped, shoved, or called a fag.

When the bell rings, he picks up his books and keeps his head down, arduously checking the crumpled-up schedule from his pocket to find his next class.

“Hello,” says a bright voice. Carlos jumps a little and looks up. In front of him stands a skinny blonde boy wearing a sweatervest—a _sweatervest_ —and a ridiculously cheerful grin that’s by and large too cheerful for a high school hallway. It’s…weird.

“Hi,” Carlos replies nervously.

“I’m Cecil, I’m in your science class,” Cecil announces, holding out his hand like a declaration.

Carlos swallows, suddenly frantic, because he’s not good with interactions. He shakes Cecil’s hand briefly, mumbles “Nice to meet you,” and dashes off without another word, leaving Cecil somewhat stranded in the hallway.

Cecil is utterly mystified by this behavior. Unfortunately for Carlos, that just makes him want to try harder.

Carlos’ next class is Geometry. He’s been placed in advanced math as per the norm, which can get annoying since that usually means he ends up spending disproportionate amounts of time on it, and he’s really never liked math, despite being a huge science geek.

He takes a seat in the back of the classroom and tries to listen to the teacher ramble on about cylinders, but five minutes into the lesson find himself distracted by a tap on his shoulder. Barely managing not to jump out of his seat, he instead turns his head to see a flat-nosed boy with a buzz cut leaning over from the desk on Carlos’ right. He’s staring quite intently at Carlos, though not like the other boy—Cecil, Carlos thinks—had been; this one was staring rather rudely and with far less curiosity.

“You’re the new kid, right?” the boy says in what’s clearly supposed to be a whisper. Carlos doesn’t want to reply but finds himself nodding jerkily. “How old are you, huh?”

“F-fourteen,” Carlos stammers in an actual whisper, glancing towards the front of the room in fear of being overheard.

“Just moved here?”

He nods warily.

“Where from, huh?”

“San Diego,” he manages, gaining a distinct feeling of being interrogated, and noticing that Buzz Cut Boy hasn’t yet bothered to ask his name.

“Fourteen?” the boy asks again, and Carlos nods, making a cautious but shrewd guess at where this might be going: he’s a year younger than everyone else in this class, and Buzz Cut Boy doesn’t seem the type values hard work above all else.

“I’m Steve, Steve Carlsburg,” he says, and before Carlos even has time to say his own name (not that he was going to), launches right into “hey listen, can I copy your homework, huh?”

“We—we don’t have any yet,” Carlos mutters noncommittally; he can’t possibly make any copying deals on the first. It’ll be better to first figure out how likely Buzz Cu—Steve is to beat the shit out of him if he refuses. The kid is big, bigger than Carlos, certainly, but he’s clearly a little dim, and hopefully not one of the ones ready to throw eye-blackening punches at anything that moves.

Steve’s eyes narrow maliciously with a sudden viciousness that Carlos had not at all expected. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll let you think it over. Let me know if you need any _persuading_ , huh?”

Carlos cringes inwardly and twitches outwardly, turning away from Steve and back to the lesson. That’s just great. It’s only his second class at this school and he’s already being threatened, not to mention now he’ll have even more math to do.

When lunch arrives, Carlos takes his lunchbox and hides in a bathroom stall so he can eat it alone and in peace. This has become a bit of a practice for him, as being friendless is his general practice, and sitting by oneself in a school cafeteria is basically the equivalent of a death sentence.

Cecil, meanwhile, walks into the cafeteria with the eyes of a hawk, and feels his heart sink a bit when he realizes Carlos With The Perfect Hair is nowhere to be found. He spots Dana getting a tray of spaghetti and dashes over, using his superhuman speed.

“I know we’re in high school now and things are different,” she says conversationally, “but does the spaghetti here look weird to you?”

“Could be, I think the meatballs might be one shade lighter brown,” Cecil supplies.

“Yeah, and back at the middle school, the sauce was definitely a different consistency. Not quite so…oozy,” she concludes, letting a glob of it drip from her fork back onto the tray. “Shall we sit?”

“We shall.” It’s a general rule that where you it on the first day becomes your spot for all eternity, so the importance of this moment cannot be overstated. It’s also a general rule that freshmen never get decent cafeteria tables, but Cecil and Dana are clever, and thus manage to avoid being shoved into the corner. They agreed long ago to always sit somewhere with plenty of seats in case they make any new friends, which, while an impressively optimistic view, may also be slightly delusional.

“My Spanish teacher seems nice,” Dana remarks, cautiously eyeing her pasta and reaching instead for a milk carton. “I was in the middle of a cherry lollipop when I walked into class and she actually let me finish.”

“Where’d you get a cherry lollipop?” Cecil demands enviously.

“It was sticking out of Elliot Carlsburg’s pocket. He’s popular enough already, he doesn’t need lollipops.”

“Good call,” Cecil says, then switches to focus mode. “Listen, I have to tell you something...”

Slightly alarmed by the sudden seriousness of his tone, Dana looks up from her questionable spaghetti and stares at him. “Okay.”

“Did you see the new boy?”

“No, there’s a new boy?”

Cecil takes a breath and gushes. “His name is Carlos and he sits kind of in front of me in science and oh my god, Dana, he is _perfect_ and he has perfect hair and I love him, and he seems really shy, and I looked all over the lunchroom for him but he’s not here and I don’t know how but I am going to be his new best friend because he is _perfect_. What should I say?”

Dana considers all this for a moment, impressively unfazed, then ventures, “how about you ask to get coffee with him?”

“Ooh, that’s so _mature_!”

“Well, you have to come across as a chill guy. But you said he’s shy, right? So don’t scare him away. Be confident but not overbearing.”

Cecil nods, businesslike. “Got it.”

“Ooh, I can’t wait to see you finally get a boyfriend! This is going to be _adorable._ ”

Cecil grins, blushing.

-

The rest of the school day, fortunately, passes without incident, and once the bell rings, Carlos finds a reasonably shady spot in front of the school under which he sets down his bag and makes sure everything’s still in there.

Textbooks, notebooks, pencils, ruler, and a small, red, plastic triangle on the end of a slightly rusted chain. Carlos moves that to the bottom and pulls out his neatly folded new map of town, staring tenuously at it. Once he’s found the route home, he zips up his backpack and begins to walk.

Sadly, he’d really been hoping to avoid any more contact with people today, and stopping at the tree gave Cecil (who most certainly _was not_ following him, thank you very much) time to catch up to him.

“Carlos!” he calls brightly, approaching from behind at a slightly alarming speed, and Carlos jumps for the third time that day, wishing everybody would find less startling ways of getting his attention. He doesn’t turn around, however, because Cecil is already walking at his side, falling easily into step as though they’ve done this every day for years.

“H-hello,” Carlos croaks out rather hoarsely, feeling his hands tense up.

“How was your first day?” Cecil inquires curiously. Carlos shrugs, trying not to look as unnerved as he feels, and Cecil nods seriously as though he’s just given an in-depth analysis of Night Vale’s public high school.

“That’s not too bad,” Cecil says. “Mine was pretty decent. Night Vale Middle School isn’t nearly as cool as Night Vale High, it’s so nice to finally be here. Although the spaghetti is a little weird.”

Carlos can’t think of a single reply to this, so he elects to stay silent. Cecil does not take this as a cue to do the same.

“But overall, I think the cafeteria food is a lot better than it could’ve been. Certainly better than in middle school. Though that could be entirely inaccurate, I may need to keep testing that theory.”

 _Collecting data,_ Carlos thinks, feeling fairly amazed. _He’s talking about collecting data. In a (somewhat) normal conversation. That’s what_ I _do._

“Hey, do you want to get coffee sometime?” Cecil asks suddenly, and Carlos trips over his feet in surprise, stumbling forward on the sidewalk.

“C-coffee?” Carlos repeats anxiously, and Cecil nods vigorously, beaming.

_Did a person just ask me out for coffee? A real, actual person who is actually interested in getting coffee with me?_

He looks at Cecil’s cartoonishly hopeful (and fairly adorable, which Carlos absolutely does not notice) face and thinks _yes._ _It would appear so_.

So of course, the natural, obvious, _well duh_ thing to do would be to say _yes, of course, absolutely_ at once.

Only Carlos can’t, because a) whenever he’s in the vicinity of another human, his brain functions at the level of a four-year-old, b) there’s a sizable chance that this boy could be one of those assholes who pretends to like you and then goes to laugh about it behind your back with all his shitty friends, and later when you’ve actually started to care about him, he shoves you into the dirt in front of the whole school, c) if he’s not one of those assholes, he’s probably looking to copy homework or get some kind of favor, d) if by any chance he is actually genuinely interested in getting coffee with Carlos ( _holy shit_ ) then he’s probably expecting a far more socially adept, interesting, non-constantly-panic-stricken teenager, and Carlos would honestly rather just turn him down here and now than get to the point where this boy who _actually asked him out for coffee_ and is _interested_ realizes Carlos is the last person anyone would want to have coffee with and then just leaves and never speaks to him again, and e) he doesn’t have any money on him and can’t pay for coffee.

So, with an unexpectedly potent sinking feeling, he shoots Cecil a terrified glance, stammers out, “No, th-thank you,” and dashes ahead, hoping to leave Cecil in the dust.

Sadly, Cecil is very bad at taking hints and also very fast, so he immediately catches back up with Carlos, still beaming, and says, “That’s okay, we don’t have to go right now. I just figured since you’re new maybe you could use a friend. Maybe we could go tomorrow instead?”

Carlos gulps. “N-no, I—I’m really just trying to concentrate on schoolwork right now—”

“Oh, that’s cool! I can help you out if you need to be caught up on anything.”                                                    

He’s having trouble breathing now. “No, no, it’s—I think I’ll just go alone, thanks,” he mumbles, speeding up even more, and Cecil finally stays back and lets him go.

“So I’ll get back to you on that?” he calls after Carlos’ retreating figure, as Carlos clenches his shaking fists.

He doesn’t know how to talk to people. Or do much of anything, really.

He walks home, staring flatly at the ground.

Home is now a small brick box down the street from Night Vale’s one pizza place, which is rather oddly painted. Since they only got here last week, there are still boxes everywhere, though not that many. They don’t have a lot of stuff.

-

Unfortunately for Carlos’ anthropophobia, Cecil doesn’t give up easily. His attempt to be Carlos’ new best friend is the first of many, each of them meticulously thought out with the help of Dana, equally indomitable.

Well, they _seem_ meticulously thought out. In reality, they’re mostly just comprised of Cecil spotting ( _perfect perfect_ ) Carlos in the hallway, running up to him and, without preamble, asking “Do you want to go to the movies with me this weekend?” Carlos always responds with the same terrified head-shake, the mumbled “I have to go,” and the dash in the opposite direction (though these three actions grow increasingly more exasperated over time). But knowing when Carlos will be in correct hallway spot for Cecil to “coincidentally spot” him requires a lot of planning. He’s forever grateful to Dana—the mark of a good friendship is the fact that she didn’t mind basically stalking the poor kid with him.

Carlos is utterly bewildered and somewhat terrified by Cecil’s near-constant attempts to win him over, and decides the best way to respond is with consistency. Meaning consistency in his inability to react to anything other people say.

(Although he’d never admit it, after a week or so, these attempts start to become slightly intriguing, and Carlos finds himself oddly fascinated by this strange boy who won’t leave him alone. Of course, it’s not like anyone else has ever tried so hard to be friends with him, or tried at all, for that matter, and nothing else is happening in this town, so that’s probably why Carlos feels the tiniest tingle of excitement buried under his crushing dread and sense of _oh-not-again_ whenever he sees Cecil coming towards him, beaming like he hasn’t already been denied 300 times.)

Cecil is not bad at science, but his grades in that particular class have suddenly plummeted. It’s anyone’s guess as to why.

Staring at the back of Carlos’ perfect head and daydreaming about things he’d like to say to the front of that head is admittedly quite distracting, so understandably Cecil’s been finding it difficult to concentrate on the lesson. He thinks it unlikely, however, that Mrs. Dubois would much appreciate this explanation, so he’s not inclined to attempt it; what he really ought to do is just try harder not to let his mind wander even though he has such a nice view of that _gorgeous, perfect_ hair, but… he really can’t help himself. Those _curls_ ; how can he stop his overactive imagination from wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through them (he’d bet they’re silky soft), to tug them and—

“Cecil!”

He snaps guiltily back to reality to face the harsh sight of Mrs. Dbois scowling down at him. “Yes?” he ventures timidly, trying to look as innocent as he can muster.

“Would you care to share your answer with the class?”

“Um…”

Mrs. Dubois clears her throat impatiently. “What is the main difference between DNA and RNA?”

He stares helplessly at the chalkboard, searching for some kind of clue, but it may as well be written in Pig Latin, so he’s forced to give Mrs. Dubois a meek little shrug. She sighs exasperatedly and turns away, hands on her hips. ( _Five points from Gryffindor_.) He forces his gaze down to the notebook in front of him. It ought to be filled with…well, notes, but all he really has is a bunch of doodles and the occasional vocabulary word from the few times he manages to absorb a word of what Mrs. Dubois says in this class. The rest is blank from time spent daydreaming.

He wonders if there’s anyone Carlos daydreams about.

Actually, at that particular moment, Carlos is, in fact, wondering what the hell this strange boy is trying to accomplish by asking him _daily_ if he wants to “get coffee” or “play cards” or “hang out sometime.” It’s rather dumbfounding; the more Carlos gets past the initial sense of _what the fuck_ and his gut-wrenching fear of human interaction, the more he focuses on these exchanges themselves, the more he’s baffled by them. Who on earth wants this badly to talk to _him_ , to Carlos?

Well, apparently Cecil does. But _why?_ What’s so intriguing about an introverted, trodden-on, nearly silent science geek with no friends? He can’t figure it out. All he can really do is continue to refuse the strange boy every time he makes another over-enthusiastic offer.

After two full weeks of staring at the back of Carlos’ perfect head in science class, following him around, and being completely undeterred by every single refusal that his harassed-looking classmate gives, Cecil is forced to confront the fact that the attempt is simply not working.

“Time to try a new approach,” he tells Dana at lunch; she nods, chewing her (brought from home, less suspicious) spaghetti thoughtfully.

“You have to come at the problem from a subtler angle,” she says confidently after swallowing. “I think he’s getting scared. You’re too blunt, now we’re one accidental-bumping-into from a restraining order.”

“I know, I know,” Cecil frets anxiously, running a hand through his hair. “He’s just so _perfect_. How can I not?”

“Hey, I get it. You’re the only one who seems to think so, though. I don’t see anyone else asking him out.”

“It’s because he’s quiet. If he had friends, the competition would be endless.”

“Well, luckily for you, he doesn’t.”

“I know,” Cecil sighs, eyes glassy.

“Cecil,” Dana says softly and more sympathetically. “I think you should leave him alone for a while.”

Cecil blinks, slightly disbelieving. “What?”

As delusionally optimistic the two of them might be, even Dana can tell when Cecil needs a wake-up call. She braces herself for the harsh slap of reality to hit him full in the face, telling herself it needs to be done before he really gets hurt. “Listen, Ceec, he’s clearly not interested. We’ve tried everything we can think of, but, I mean…come on. It couldn’t be plainer he wants nothing to do with you.” Cecil’s hurt, bewildered face is nearly enough to make her shut up, but she steels herself and keeps talking. “It might actually qualify as harassment by this point. He’s…it’s kinda obvious he has trouble with…uh…”

“With what?” Cecil demands, affronted on behalf of the boy he knows basically nothing about besides his name and science class.

Dana shifts uncomfortably. “With…you know…people. And I just—don’t think you should be bothering him. I get it, Ceec, really I do. I’m not saying you should give up on him, but maybe give it a rest for a while. Let him recuperate. Let _yourself_ recuperate.”

Dana finishes this warily, eyeing her best friend as he stares at her like she smashed all his favorite CDs, and hopes he won’t refuse to eat his lunch. Then his shoulders suddenly droop, and he lets out a huge sigh.

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. I guess I’ve been a little overbearing.”

Dana nods, somewhat relieved, taking another bite of spaghetti. “You can try again in a little while. But for now, let’s just…keep it on the down-low.”

Cecil picks at his salad glumly, knowing she’s only being rational, and still feeling like crap about it.

It takes a lot of restraint and moral support, but he stops his daily interrogatives about coffee, which leaves the subject of said interrogatives oddly stranded.

It’s not that he’s disappointed; he hates dealing with people in general, and it’s not like he enjoyed Cecil’s attention. It was a constant nuisance, not to mention kinda scary and stomach-clenching, but they had become something of a norm. It was weird, therefore, when, all of a sudden, they just stopped. It’s not that he _misses_ them, it’s just…

He feels oddly _off_ without the constancy of Cecil’s enthusiasm to do something with him, no matter what that something might be. (And maybe, you know, as annoying and horrible as that enthusiasm was, maybe it was a tiny bit nice to have someone who was _that_ interested in him. Or interested at all, for that matter. But apparently he finally got tired of it. Which is…good, of course, that’s good.)

It doesn’t matter. He doesn’t need to worry about it. He has biology homework to do, anyways.

Halfway across town, a boy in a sweatervest is doing that same homework and thinking of him.


End file.
